


Dublin

by Traviosita9124



Series: Two Blue Lines [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slightly Angry Sex, hotel hook up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this forever ago, but never posted it here. Set after The Well. After several close calls, FitzSimmons try to work out some of their frustrations in the hotel bar... that is, until a preferable option presents itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dublin

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Exhaustion crept under his skin, settling into tense shoulders and a dull ache just behind his eyes. He shucks off his grey jumper, allowing it to land in a crumpled heap on the floor. Dimly, just past the overwhelming fatigue, he hears what sounds like the nagging voice of his lab partner, warning him that it’ll stain and wrinkle if he leaves it there.

Leopold Fitz tells the voice to fuck off as he leans against the dresser to stare more closely at his reflection. His blue button up is wrinkled, the tie askew, and there are dark circles forming under glassy eyes he barely recognizes as being his own. He knows he should strip down to his boxers and slip beneath the sheets of the king size bed that S.H.I.E.L.D. has so kindly paid for and try for a full eight hours of sleep, but his mind is simply too active at the moment.

The past 36 hours had been a whirlwind, jumping around Europe and chasing the berserker staff. It had been interesting enough, a myth come to life, but having that damn Asgardian on the Bus had been another stressor. He was a letch, plain and simple, regardless of his race. Pretty as a peach, he thought to himself, disgusted. She had smiled for that weak compliment, too, bending easily to the charms of that slime. He winces at the memory.

How it was that a woman as talented and beautiful as Jemma Simmons would go for lines like that was beyond him.

His eyes skirt over to the mini-fridge tucked beneath the dresser. He’s sure there’s a fine selection of miniature bottles of liquor hidden behind the little black door. A few of those and he could be down for the count, and all on Director Fury’s dime at that.

He recalls his Uncle Steenie, how he would tuck himself into a chair before the hearth as soon as he came home from the factory and would proceed to drink himself into a stupor. He refuses to be that man, so he runs his fingers through his curls, shoves his key card in his pocket, and makes for the hotel bar. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her fingers distractedly draw patterns on the dark wood of the bar as she tunes out the prattling of the man who had sidled up next to her.

Jemma Simmons isn’t in the mood to be the target of some man’s ego boost; all she wanted was to come down to the bar, have a drink or two, people watch, and make her way back to her room for blissful, alcohol-induced, dreamless sleep. The man, some 6 foot, dark-haired, light-eyed local who apparently just broke it off with his girlfriend of four years, is handsome enough, she supposes. It’s just been so long since anyone other than a certain curly-haired, blue-eyed engineer has caught her attention, but the local’s now smiling at her as if he expects her to react to something he just said.

She recovers quickly, flashing him a brilliant smile before swallowing the last of her moscato. The sweetness is cloying, and somehow makes it easier for her to fake an answer.

“That’s certainly a conundrum.”

She’s apparently said something that’s acceptable because he smiles back and signals the bartender. “Let me get you—”

Suddenly, there’s a warm hand low on her back, and a familiar brogue washes over her, stopping her would-be suitor in his tracks and sending chills racing over her skin.

"Tha’s all righ’, mate, I’ve go’ it.” She glances up to see the tight-lipped smile and steely gaze Fitz gives the man before turning to the bartender. “Another f’r th’ lady, an’ I’ll ha’e a Glenlivet, two fingers, neat.”

The man, she really hadn’t bothered to remember his name, mumbles an apology to Fitz and wanders to the far side of the bar as the bartender pours their drinks. She waits until they’re set before them before speaking.

“You know,” she states matter-of-factly, picking up her fresh moscato and taking a sip, “you, Leo Fitz, are really quite the cockblock.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He wishes she’d waited for him to swallow before speaking; it would have saved him the trouble of nearly choking on a €15 drink. Although, he reflects, there would be worse ways to go, choking on good scotch and hearing the word “cock” come out of his partner’s mouth. Still, he gives her a perturbed look before turning back to his drink.

Her eyes are innocent as they gaze up at him, betraying nothing in their dark amber depths. He suddenly finds that he’s incredibly annoyed with her. Her body language from across the bar had told of a bored young woman with little to no interest in the man speaking to her. He’d stepped in to help her, and all he’d gotten in return was the title of cockblock.

“Well, if ye’d prefer, I can ask him t’ come back an’ try again.”

His exhaustion doesn’t allow him to mask the waspish tone his voice takes on. He’s never had the patience to deal with all the men who found their way to Jemma Simmons’ side, and his patience was particularly thin at the moment. He goes to push away from the bar, but she stops him with a hand on his arm. Her palm feels incredibly warm through the thin material of his shirt. He stills and glances at her, only to be greeted with a wide smile.

“It’s fine, Fitz. I was only teasing.”

He settles back into position, leaning against the bar with his weight on his forearms, before taking another sip. It burns just the way he wants it to, its warmth spreading out in gentle tendrils through his chest, down his arms and up his neck. It works quickly, thanks to his empty stomach, but instead of relaxing him, Fitz finds that his head is buzzing with a million thoughts, most of them centered on the woman sitting next to him. She truly had no idea what she did to men, let alone him. His frustration with her and her apparent ignorance of the situation bloomed, fueled by the alcohol.

“Ye dinnae e’en realize wha’ yer teasin’ coul’ lead a man t’ do, do ye?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She’s surprised at his tone of voice, and she realizes that he’s angry, honestly angry, with what she said.

Typically, she’d be accommodating, would be patient and would talk Fitz down from whatever had piqued his famed Scottish temper, but today was far from a typical day. She had spent the past 36 hours gallivanting around Europe. A drink or two were in order, then sleep in a bed larger than the twin sized cot she occupied on the Bus. She does her best to keep her voice even, not wanting to start a fight in the middle of a crowded bar. S.H.I.E.L.D. earned enough bad press on its own without having its agents bickering in public.

“What teasing, Fitz? I was speaking to a man when you came down, yes, but there was no teasing. It was just a conversation.”

Her anger becomes a gentle fizzing in her chest, ready to boil over, when he scoffs at her and presses on.

“No’ a tease. Bloody likely.”

She elects to turn on her stool so she’s facing him and glares instead of responding to his comment. Fitz, for his part, decides to keep digging his own grave. He gulps down the last of his drink and signals for another.

“Ye really dinnae see how men flock t’ ye? I’s constan’, Jemma,” he pauses to take a sip from the fresh scotch that’s just been set in front of him, “an’ I hate it. I hated havin’ t’ watch tha’ ‘professor’ ogle ye an’ hearin’ ‘im tell ye tha’ ye’re ‘th’ mos’ beautiful thing’ he’s seen in a thousan’ years…” he trails off, staring into the amber liquid in his glass.

She thinks he’s done, is ready to forgive his outburst, blame it on alcohol and a long two days, when he starts back in again.

“An’ ye smile an’ accep’ it an’ encourage ‘em. Chris’, i’s fuckin’ annoyin’.”

It dawns on her exactly what this is about. Fitz is finally catching up with the rest of the class; he knows what he wants, but he doesn’t know how to go about getting it. Jemma is no such fool, and for as much as she tries to hide her feelings from the world at large, she’s very much in touch with what she wants, has known what she’s wanted for a very long time, and tonight is the night she takes it.

“Fitz.”

He continues staring downward, ignoring his name, apparently attempting to bore a hole through not only the bottom of his tumbler, but the bar itself.

“Leo.”

Still nothing.

“Leopold Fitz, you prat, if you won’t make a move yourself, you can’t expect me to ignore other men.”

That got his attention. He stands straight and turns towards her, mouth open, ready to unleash his own retort, but she’s faster. Before he can stop and realize what’s happening, she grabs hold of his tie, using it as a tether to bring his mouth to hers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her taste is saccharine, thanks to the moscato, and serves as a sharp contrast to the feel of her against him.

The kiss is anything but sweet, with years of pent up frustration on both their parts rising to the surface. Yet, despite the aggression behind her kiss, there’s genuine emotion there, even when Jemma takes his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping at it and drawing a low growl from his throat. He steps between her knees, and placing his hands under either thigh, pulls her flush against him, nearly toppling the stool beneath her in the process. He’s gratified by way she squeaks when she feels him pressed against her, and pulls away to look her in the eye.

Her anger is waning, giving way to lust, and he feels a heat bloom low in his belly that has nothing to do with the alcohol or the thought of another man touching her.

“Are ye really goin’ t’ tell me ye’re not a tease now?” He knows he’s risking life and limb to get the barb out, but he can’t resist. He scans her face, takes in her wide eyes, panting mouth, and the jumping pulse point in her neck. He locks his gaze with hers again to find honey-color pools laden with longing staring back at him. He’s absolutely entranced by her, cannot believe that he’s here and done this and she hasn’t murdered him yet.

Without loosening her hold on his tie or breaking eye contact, Jemma snakes her left hand into his front pocket, brushing against his rapidly awakening cock in the process, and pulls out his billfold. “Pay the man,” she hisses, voice husky, “and take me upstairs.” She uses his tie to pull him closer, so her mouth is even with his right ear. She draws the lobe into her mouth, setting her teeth into it gently and making his knees shake just the slightest bit.

Fitz doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling out far more euros than he needs to cover their tab and slapping them down on the polished wooden surface before yanking her off her stool and leading her to the lift in the lobby.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jemma stumbles after him, the moscato having worked on her more quickly than she’d expected, his grip on her hand anchoring her to the moment as they both slip through the lobby and into the first available lift. 

She nearly doesn’t recognize the giggle echoing through the tiny chamber as her own, as she’s so distracted by the way Fitz manages to swing her around and press her to the wall, even as he hits the button for the fourth floor. She has just enough time to take a breath before his mouth is on her again, hot and hungry as his tongue urges her to open up to him. Jemma responds eagerly, her tongue slicking over his as her hips press into him, and she swallows his groan when she grinds against his erection. 

She fists her hands into his shirt, wanting to bring him closer and draw that sound from him again, when the bell dings, signaling that they’ve reached their floor. Jemma groans in frustration, wishing they had had more time, but Fitz is quicker than she, grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her out of the lift and down the hall toward his room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fitz has no earthly clue how he manages to get them down the hall and to his door, what with how his entire being is trembling in anticipation of what will happen tonight. All he knows is that he’s here, Jemma is with him, and she seems to rather like distracting him with her mouth on his neck. He fumbles with the key card as she grazes her teeth along his pulse, and he has to stop for a moment to remember to breath. Jemma, clearly pleased with his reaction, repeats the action, and it’s then that he realizes he needs to get her to stop. 

So he tugs her in front of him, her back pressed to his chest as he pins her between himself and the door. He readjusts his hold on her, one hand coming to her hip to tug her against him, his erection pressed to her arse, as the other fiddles with the card, shaky fingers still struggling to hold it steady. 

“Ye see wha’ I mean, lass,” he rasps low and rough directly into her ear as he grinds his hips into her a bit. “Ye’re a tease. An’ unless ye wan’ t’ do this here, against th’ door, I need ye t’ stop.”

Instead, she merely presss her arse back against him, even as her hand covers his and helps him guide the key card into the lock. “Fitz,” she murmurs to him over her shoulder, voice laden with arousal and suddenly more tender than it had been before, “shut up and come inside already.”

With that she pushed open the door, and reaching back to get a hold on his tie, pulls him into the room along with her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She enjoys how easily he follows her, towed along by his tie, to stand by the edge of his bed. She releases him then to run her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pressing her body as close to him as she can. She notices the apprehension in his eyes, and feels her heart soften as she realizes exactly how much they both want this, how long they’ve both been circling, just waiting for it to happen. So, she presses a sweet kiss to his jaw, just below his ear and whispers, “Relax, Leo. It’s still me. It’s still us. No teasing, I promise.”

She kisses across his jaw then, stopping to kiss his chin before focusing on his lower lip. She sucks it into her mouth, nipping at it before allowing her tongue to run across it to soothe the little hurt she’s inflicted on him. She pulls back to see his face, and finds that she is touched by the tenderness she found there. 

He might be prickly and sarcastic and quick to snap, but Leopold Fitz cares for her more than anyone she’s ever known, including her own family members. It shows in all the little things he does, from making her tea to movie nights in his bunk, and she feels her heart clench, knowing that they can’t turn away from this and be the same. 

But more importantly, she knows she never wants them to be the same again. 

So she kisses him with renewed purpose, encouraging him to take the lead as she opens her mouth to him. Once he finds the pace he wants, Jemma works the knot out of his tie, slipping it from his neck as she goes to work on the buttons of his shirt. Fitz soon catches on to what she’s doing, and trails his kisses down her neck as he pops the little buttons out of their fastenings, eventually letting the silk slither off her shoulders and to the ground. 

It all becomes a blur from there, worshipful touches and gentle murmurings as they divest each other of their clothing. When she feels the cool air of the room brush her skin, she pulls away to smile at him and take his hand, silently asking him to follow her as she lies back on the bed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first, Fitz can only watch her, utterly transfixed as Jemma lies back against his pillows, naked as the day she was born and looking at him with eyes that are full of hopeful expectation. 

He nearly pinches himself to be sure it’s all real; he’s wanted her for so long, felt frustrated and convinced that she’d never look at him as more than a friend, that having her here, now, is nearly enough to throw him entirely off kilter. But it’s when she extends a hand to him with a quiet, “Please, Leo,” that he manages to move, climbing onto the mattress to recline next to her. 

“Kiss me,” she softly demands, and he’s happy to oblige her, his lips finding her own as he brings a hand up to cup her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple into a turgid peak. He swallows each of her soft moans before he tears his mouth away to lavish his attention on her neck, sucking up a little love bite over her pulse before working his way over her clavicle and down to her breast. Fitz knows he should tease her a bit, should finesse the situation a little more, but he can’t help himself, and he allows his tongue to dart out over her nipple before taking it into his mouth and suckling at her. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jemma feels her back arch up off the bed when he turns his attention to her nipple, a gasp escaping her mouth as heat pools low in her belly and she feels herself grow slick with arousal. She threads her fingers through his curls, trying to hold him in place even as she encourages him to center himself above her, her thighs falling open to welcome him. 

She moans softly when she feels him pressed intimately against her thigh, and her hips buck up to meet him of their own accord, causing his cock to slick against her folds and them both to groan. 

“Christ, Fitz,” she grits out between clenched teeth, fingers still tangled in his hair, “ touch me.”

He proves adept at multitasking, skimming a hand down her side to slip between them. He finds her, wet and wanting, and slowly works two fingers into her, moving gently as he pushes in and searches for her most sensitive spots, his calluses rasping against her in a sinfully appealing manner. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His cock throbs, painfully hard, when Fitz reaches down and finds her drenched for him. His breathing grows shallow as he works her, feeling the gentle shuddering that runs through her as he presses up against into her even as his thumb rubs circles around her clit. 

He watches her, blue eyes intense, as she inches closer to the brink, her legs trembling against his and a flush spread across her chest. He leans up, chest flush against hers, to kiss her. It’s sloppy, with both of them gasping and wanting and desperate, tongues and teeth clashing even as they giggle with each other over the absurdity of it. 

He pulls back as Jemma cups his jaw, fingers gentle as they stroke over his cheek. Her eyes are clear, despite what she’d had to drink earlier, and Fitz finds it reassuring, a sign that neither of them will wake up in the morning with excuses dropping off of their lips. He gives her a soft smile, not truly believe that they’re here, together, ready to take this step. 

“Jemma…” he begins, voice thick with emotion, and he drops his forehead to her chin, unable to continue. Still, she encourages him to look at her with her fingers under his chin, and they stay like that for a moment, watching each other, conducting an entire conversation without speaking a single word. 

“I know, Leo. I know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She kissed him after that, feeling the emotion ebb and flow between them. 

She and Fitz could never be a one night stand; once this dam broke, it meant forever for the two of them. Secure in that knowledge, Jemma slid her hand between them to find his cock, and giving it a few firm strokes, set him at her entrance and rolled her hips, her intent clear. 

He rolled his hips with her on the second pass, pushing into her and causing them both to sigh in pleasure. The stretch of him against her walls is wonderful, causing her nipples to tighten as her body arches toward him, wanting him to take her. Fitz’ body is as attuned to her as his mind, and he gives her exactly what she wants, sliding in and out of her in a steady rhythm that soon has both of them on the brink of orgasm. He slips his fingers back down to focus on her clit, and before she’s even aware of it, Jemma is slipping off the edge of reality, her mind going blank as her body clenches around his cock. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fitz follows shortly after, unable to resist the pull of her body as she breaks apart around him, and he spills into her with a soft grunt that he tries to muffle in her neck. They lay there for a few minutes, each enjoying the afterglow as they nuzzled at each other, trading soft kisses and gentle caresses as they came down from the natural high of sex. 

Eventually, Fitz manages to shake off some of the haze of having sex with Jemma, and pulls away from her. He doesn’t go far, however, grabbing her hand and pulling her off the bed with him so they can both slide under the covers. 

He’s a little afraid that she’ll take the opportunity to leave now, a tiny part of him unsure that she understands exactly what this means to him; but those concerns are soon quieted when she plasters herself to his side and nuzzles his jaw before placing a quick kiss there. 

“Rest up, Fitz,” she tells him, voice sleepy even as she attempts to tease him a bit further. “I have more plans for you before morning.”

“Oh, is tha’ so, lass?” Fitz teases her just as easily, his heart light with the knowledge that she really had understood his earlier meaning. “Care t’ share these plans wit’ me?” He waits for her response, eventually peering down to see that she’s already fallen asleep. The sight of her, pillowed on his chest and satiated makes him grin, and he presses a kiss to her mussed curls before reaching over to shut off the light. 

As he drifts off, surrounded by the scent of Jemma Simmons, it occurs to him that he might not mind a little more of her teasing, if this is the result. 

So long as he’s the only one to see it, that is.


End file.
